


Terminal

by Twobit_scribbles



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Death, M/M, Sinja, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 12:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4835516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twobit_scribbles/pseuds/Twobit_scribbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ja’far has a terminal illness. Established Sinja. Deathfic</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terminal

At first, Ja’far simply carries on as usual. He attends their daily morning meetings, processes his ungodly workload of paperwork, and generally ignores Sinbad’s coaxing, threatening, or pleading for him to rest.

But as the weeks pass, the façade falls apart, and the other generals notice. The already thin man is wasting away to nothing in front of them. He tires more easily, and his famous fervor for paperwork slowly dies down. He wakes later, and takes longer and longer to pull himself out of bed. Nevertheless, he still gets up, drags his exhausted body to his desk, and does his job. Seeing him like that is almost too much for the other general to bear. 

Sinbad tries everything to get the man to collapse like the invalid he is. If he could just get his advisor to take some time to rest, maybe it would do him some good. But it is so much worse the day Ja’far doesn’t rise from his bed. For the illness to finally keep him from his work…. the pain must have been immeasurable. His health takes a turn for the worse after that, as his body resigns itself. 

Sinbad is by his side at every free moment. He brings his paperwork and a makeshift desk to Ja’far’s bedside. He laughs it off every time his advisor threatens to finish the work for him; leave it to Ja’far to nag at him from his deathbed. He brings back news from every meeting, keeping Ja’far up to date on the wellbeing of the kingdom he helped shape. And on the days Ja’far can’t take the pain, he holds him close against his chest, and feels his subordinate sobs in his very bones. They sleep embraced in each other’s arms, both unable to let go. 

The days go by too quickly, and it soon becomes painfully clear that Ja’far is waning. He is unable keep anything down anymore, and forgoes eating almost entirely. His already wasted body is becoming skeletal. He sleeps most days, too tired and in pain to stay awake. One by one, each general comes to make their peace, and say their goodbyes while they still can. 

And then one night, Sinbad jerks awake to find Ja’far sitting up in bed, staring at him with the end in his eyes. This is it, and he knows it. And Ja’far is _scared_. Sinbad swallows hard against the panic rising in his throat. No matter how long he had known, he is still not prepared to face this last, total separation.

_No no no no no. I’m not ready I’m not ready I’mnotready._

Sinbad brings a hand to Ja’far’s face, cupping the hollow cheek. He stares at the gaunt face of his advisor, his most trusted confidant, his lover, his dearest friend, and tries to burn the image into his mind forever. The weight of finality threatens to knock the breath out of him, but he struggles to keep calm for Ja’far’s sake. 

He shushes the man’s desperate murmurs _I'm sorry, I love you, I’m sorry_ and pulls Ja’far against his chest _I know, I know, I love you it’s alright_. Whispering sweet nothings into his ear, he gently strokes his hair, hoping Ja’far will at least get the comfort of sleep one more time. 

He’s not sure how long he sits there, stroking Ja’far’s hair, listening to his slow breathing, and feeling every breath against his own chest. And then suddenly there are no more breaths, only stillness. The room is silent. 

Slowly, Sinbad unwarps his arms, and carefully leans Ja’far back against the pillows. He turns away, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and stands facing the window. Outside the sky is lightening as the first few rays of sunshine peak above the horizon. On any normal day, Ja’far would be waking up soon.

Sinbad feels something deep within his magoi _snap_ so suddenly and sharply it physically aches. Dimly, he registers a noise in the back of his head. The Household of Baal is crying out in agony. 

He turns back. Ja’far is leaned back on the pillows where he’d left him. His head hangs limply to the side, his jaw slack. His eyes are closed. His chest is unnaturally, damningly still. 

Sinbad feels himself sink to his knees as something painful wells up inside him. He reaches for Ja’far’s hand, and presses his fingers against the lax wrist. _One…two…three…four…_ Thirty beats later, he still feels nothing. Sixty beats later. Ninety beats later. _Nothing._

His vision is blurring as he lowers his forehead onto the back of Ja’far’s…. the body’s lifeless hand. Tears streak down his face, as the sobs building in his chest burst forth. 

He doesn’t move from his vigil for a long time.

-

The sun still rises and sets. The birds still sing. The Great Flow of the rukh continues uninterrupted. Life goes on. The world did not stop turning when Ja’far died. But Sinbad almost wishes it had.

**Author's Note:**

> _(I'm ignoring the current turmoil in the fandom in favor of writing awful fanfiction of my favorite character dying)_
> 
> This work is also on tumblr, under twobit-anime-trash.
> 
> Thank you for reading! This was my first fanfiction in a long time, and I still have some issues with my writing style, so critique is welcome!


End file.
